The Hand of Franklin
by HollyC
Summary: what happened when Ray and fraser went off to find the hand of franklin? and what of those left behind?
1. Default Chapter

This story is told from Meg's point of view and takes place after Call Of The Wild. So if you haven't seen COTW then you had better wait before you read this. I wondered why she had agreed to a new assignment and how that affected the way she felt about OFM.  
BIUBR  
On a Darkling Plain/B/I/UBR  
by Holly---------------------------------------------------------------BR  
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You never realise how much a person means to you until you lose them forever. That realisation has come to me, today, as I sit at a desk in Ottawa staring at a faxed message. It isn't my desk, it's a long time since I have had any thing near me that is truly mine. And at this moment I regret many decisions I made over the past year. I feel like I have been adrift at sea for months and now that I finally see land in sight the truth is revealed. But it is too late to do anything about it. It is a land I don't recognise anymore. BR  
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I have returned to Canada for a while after working undercover for several months. The work was stimulating, dangerous and exciting and I was more than up to the challenge. I consider myself to be an exceptionally strong and self reliant woman. So why am I almost crying now ? I relished my assignments like an actor preparing for a role, and I excelled at them. The first few months were enjoyable, until, that is, a hollow feeling began to spread through my body, a feeling of dread anticipation. It was as if I was finally realising that there was something missing from my life that no amount of adventure could replace. In spite of all the danger and excitement my life was unfulfilled. Gradually I recognised what it was that was missing. BR  
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When I accepted the transfer I did not think twice about him. He had already expressed a desire to take extended leave (heaven knows he was owed enough of it) in order to go on some quest. The Holy Grail, The Hand of Franklin. Something bizarre. Well, you would expect that from him wouldn't you ? He was never the type to follow convention or run with the crowd. He was his own man all right. He could have been mine. His sort of unconventionality is daunting. I guess that is partly why I never took that leap, that leap necessary to change our relationship from co-workers to friends to lovers. That and the fact that I was his superior officer. I'm not any more. BR  
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The paper creases in my grip. BR  
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During the long nights when I lay awake wearing someone else's clothes, in another's bed, in some other person's face, I thought about him. I conjured up an image of him as I had last seen him in my office in Chicago. What sort of image was it that sustained me when times got tough ? When I felt I could not carry on in some stranger's boots ? When I was afraid of being found out. There were times when I sympathised with Ray Vecchio who had spent a year undercover with the mob. BR  
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The image I brought to mind to sustain me ? That will keep me sane now ? It is six feet tall (metres never did him justice) and is clad in red serge. It suits him. He carries himself with confidence, his back straight and erect in perfect posture. His stance, slightly at ease is relaxed. His head is tilted a little way to the right and a smile is half formed on his lips so there is a slight gleam of white teeth visible. His nose is long and pleasurably shaped. His eyebrows are dark smudges over honest blue-grey eyes. The eyelashes are long and black and he blinks slowly to reveal a questioning gaze. The whites of his eyes are clear. There are few blemishes; among them is a scar on his cheek, he has never told me how he got it. I know there is a scar on his back to partner the one on his heart. A cut throat razor sees to it that he is very clean shaven. I have never seen him wear a beard or even stubble. When I first saw a photograph of him, in his file, when I first got my posting to Chicago I thought he was too fine featured to take seriously. Surely a man so beautiful would be vain and shallow and useless at his job. After all he had been exiled to the US, and at that point was in hospital with an almost fatal bullet wound, under suspicion of theft and murder. It took me quite some time to accept that I was wrong about him. He was honest and reliable, uncomplaining and of great moral fibre. Trusting almost to the point of naiveté. This image I clung to during dark days and nights wishing for the real man. BR  
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His hair is very short, slightly kinked on the crown of his head, black and shiny. Hair that begs to be stroked, of a fine and silken texture with traces of hair oil, the scent of pine and coconut. His neck is strong, I cannot see his throat for it is covered by his tunic collar. The badges gleam, the epaulettes are stiff and starched, lanyard adjusted perfectly. His Sam Browne belt is worn and well oiled, the brass buttons, polished. He holds his Stetson in his hand, his long gentle fingers clasp the brim. He raises the free hand to his face to rub a thumb across the hairs of his eyebrows. A hand that could be holding mine. A hand that could caress. His shoulders are broad and muscular. He is sturdy. From where I sit at my desk I cannot see his legs though I know they are long and strong. They serve him well in leaping, climbing, skating, swimming, skiing. Did they fail him in his quest ? The paper is a tight ball in my fist. BR  
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I fought the desire to grab those shoulders and pull him to me close, body touching body. Lips kissing lips. BR  
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He shifts his weight from one foot to the other then back. Almost a dance. He is graceful. He opens his mouth to speak. His speaking voice is melodious, so too his singing. It is a pleasure to hear him sing, so perfectly in tune, full of energy. I smile at the memory of that song; "Ride forever." "Should the angels come, well it's only then, I'll pull in the reins." BR  
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What did the angels look like ? I suspect he was made in their image. BR  
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What was it he said to me that day in my office ? That last time ? He wanted to know if he could have leave to take a vacation with Stanley Kowalski. I told him that when he returned I would not be here. He had hesitated and given me that endearing questioning look, a look that almost broke my heart. I felt a tightening in my stomach, like a punch. BR  
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"You mean you are leaving Chicago, Sir ?" BR  
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There was a sadness in his eyes and the smile on his lips died. BR  
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"You won't be coming back," this time a statement, not a question. BR  
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My response ? Well I had to be detached, I couldn't afford to admit the feelings that had surfaced, could I ? What would have been the point ? We were pulling in different directions. I steeled myself. I was used to it, used to denying my desires. BR  
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"No, Fraser, I won't be returning. I am undertaking covert operations from now on. I am going to serve my country in the noblest way possible. Dismissed." BR  
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Did he look lost ? Maybe for a second, before the mask fell back into place. BR  
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"Understood," His voice was a whisper. Then louder, "Understood, Sir." BR  
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He turned on his boot heel and left. He left me and I didn't call him back. I didn't tell him. BR  
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I sat at my desk and cried as I am crying now, until there were no tears left to fall. I cried for the wasted chances. The lost opportunities. For the silly prevarication, for flirting with other men to make him jealous, for treating him unfairly. I cried for failing to respect him, for failing to love him enough. Or maybe for loving him too much. The pain I had heard in his voice said it all: he loved me. BR  
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This assignment has taught me a great deal. Not least that we are frail and feeble creatures who all wear disguises to hide our true identities. We seldom follow our hearts as we should and we make too many decisions in the name of logic that cause us misery in the long term. BR  
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So I missed my chance at happiness with him and it will never happen again now he is gone. I missed a chance to have his love and so the world has changed for me from one of peace to one of doubt, indecision and pain. BR  
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I relax the grip of my fist, the paper lies in my palm and I stare at it. I don't have to open it to remember what it says. I will not forget the message, ".......sorry to inform you that Constable Benton Fraser and Stanley Kowalski have failed to call into base for six days and are now presumed missing.........." BR  
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He has left me to suffer from these feelings of regret and loss and confusion. I throw the paper at the wall. Where do I go now ? BR  
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"Ah love let us be true BR  
To one another! For the world which seemsBR  
To lie before us like a land of dreams, so various, so beautiful, so new,BR  
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,BR  
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;BR  
And we are here as on a darkling plainBR  
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,BR  
Where ignorant armies clash by night."BR  
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Matthew Arnold "Dover Beach" BR  
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*****BR  
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EpilogueBR  
Deep inside the arctic circle the midnight sun is glowing weakly upon a team of huskies led by a wolf all pulling a sled. The land is deserted. Only the sound of two voices raised in argument disturbs the frozen air. BR  
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"Ray, how could you do that, how could you drop the radio transmitter? Everyone will think we are dead. And if we get into real trouble there will be no way of getting help." BR  
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"Look Frase, it was not my fault. You took that corner too fast and the sled tipped over and it was knocked out of my hands, and-" BR  
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"Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray-" BR  
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"Will you quit with the Ray Ray, you are so annoying-" BR  
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"No Ray, listen to me-" BR  
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"I will not listen to you Frase, that's all I ever do and look what sort of trouble it gets me into, stuck out here in the tundra on some lunatic quest with no way of contacting civilisation." BR  
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"Ray-" BR  
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"Fraser-" BR  
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"Ray, I think I see something in the snow over there..........." BR  
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The End.........................for now.BR  
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I acknowledge Alliance's right to these characters. I am making no profit out of this story, I am just borrowing Fraser and Thatcher and Kowalski to satisfy an obsession. BR  
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Copyright © 1998 L. Do not archive or copy without the permission of the author. TYK. BR  
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	2. This Distant Northern Sea

Okay, I've punished Meg enough. . Here is the second part of the story; On a Darkling Plain. Spoiler for COTW   
This Distant Northern Sea  
by Holly  
  
Ray and I set up camp a few kilometres outside Tuktoyuktuk. We had searched all along the edge of the Beaufort sea for weeks. Now we were headed back to civilisation. I could feel the weather turning colder, the snow solidifying, the days shortening. When I pointed this out to Ray he told me cold was cold, to him there was no difference. You can take the man out of the city, but not the city out of the man, he had tried his best. It was not his homeland; after all, it was mine. And I tried to share with him the knowledge and pleasure of my land.   
I had shown him the siksiks, explained how they lived in holes and made a tasty meal for the bushy tailed foxes. We had marvelled together at the huge floe edge where the solid ice ends, enormous chunks rolling and crashing into each other. We saw black nosed polar bears walking on the thin ice catching seals. I had shown him how to use a kakivaak to catch fish in the cold water. We cooked and ate the fish he caught. We saw lots of wildlife as we travelled through the Arctic Circle, Ray was surprised at how abundant it was. It made me proud to be able to point out snowy owls (the ukpigjuaq) wolves, lemmings. And caribou. We were lucky to see a herd of them walking back from their spring calving grounds. Ray laughed at the black faces and skinny legs of the calves. it was good to see his face light up, revelling in the joy of nature.   
So now we were sitting by the campfire, ready to return to civilization after six or more months of searching. We didn't find that hand of Franklin, that reaching out hand. But I don't think we failed in our quest and I'm sure Ray does not feel failure either. We found something much more valuable. Call it peace of mind, call it resolution. Call it whatever you like. It was a romantic notion, an escape. We found strength in each other. Opened up our hearts to each other, gave each other solace. We helped each other recover from the pain of loss.   
For Ray it was an escape from the memory of Stella and the feeling that she had abandoned him once and for all. During our search he had come to terms with the fact that Stella had left him to run off with my former partner, the man Ray had impersonated for over a year. His alter ego. You had to laugh at the irony of it: Ray took over his life so the other Ray took the love of his life. It took a while but Ray finally did laugh over it. Out there by the Beaufort sea, with just me, his friend, and the sunbathing seals, to hear him. He laughed till the tears stained his cheeks. Till he had to lay down on the snow his legs were so weakened. And I was there for him, to help him see that everything would be all right. That he could return to Chicago and become Stanley Raymond Kowalski again, but working now for the 27th Division as his true self.   
"Okay Fraser," He said to me, blinking in the bright sun, flat on his back in the white snow, "I've had it with that hand. What about you? What say we call it quits and go home ?"   
I had to admire him for that. For recognising that it was time to give up, and that giving up did not necessarily mean losing face. He had come a long way.   
So that was Ray. Sorted out.   
But what about me? What ghosts did I lay to rest? What did I find that resolved my quest? I knew all along that we weren't really looking for that hand.   
No, nothing so tangible. It was an internal search. The peace I sought was release from the sorrow of finally losing my father for good. I lost him once, when he was murdered, then I was given the chance to get to really know him. I lost him for a last time in that mineshaft. I also found then lost again a mother I hardly knew. She stroked my cheek and smiled at me and I cried. If only I could have made that moment last forever. So as we trekked along this distant northern shore, Ray and I, I nursed the heartache of deep losses. Too many losses. I needed that hand to heal my damaged heart.   
Staring into the flames, the spaghetti and coffee warming up, I begin now to feel more at peace, I'm coming to terms with those losses. And in doing so I realise that I must keep hold now of those I love who are still alive before they are lost too.   
And that means you Margaret. It struck me in this wilderness by this cold sea that I loved you. That loving you meant finding you and telling you. It meant ignoring protocol, logic, rules and all those silly things we allowed to get in the way of our love. I should never have let you go. I should be with you. You know my parents spent very little time together. All that is left of their short relationship is me. I want children of my own. I want a wife I can be with for a very long time. I want you.   
When I get back to Ottawa, I will search for you. I'll search and I won't give up until I find you again. Whatever your name, in whatever your disguise, I'll find you. After all, I'm the best tracker there is.   
One of a kind. The last of a breed.   
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"...This distant northern sea  
The sea of Faith"  
Matthew Arnold "Dover Beach"  
  



	3. The Breath of The Night Wind

Franklin 3 Holly C June 99  
  
Disclaimer. These wonderful, characters which I have borrowed, are Alliance's . I am making no profit from them.  
  
The Breath of the Night Wind  
  
Night time.  
  
I stand by my open window and feel the wind breathe on me. Its whisper is the sound of his voice. A voice I long to hear again even if he only says to me, "understood, sir." Is it a wind from the north? It feels cold enough.  
  
It's been a month now since that letter.  
  
A month of restless nights spent standing by a window, watching, waiting. Yearning.  
  
I am still working here in Ottawa, running a small group of RCMP undercover wannabes. The work is not stretching, not particularly exciting after my adventures last year. But it serves me well in that for the most part it keeps my mind off those thoughts which I don't wish to confront. However, like ants determined to find the shortest route to their nest, those thoughts persist.  
  
Four weeks and still no news.  
  
Soon the powers that be will talk of memorial services. I can't accept that. A memorial service will mean we have given up hope. It would mean killing him for sure. At least as things stand I can hope just a little bit that he survived out there in that wilderness. Maybe Ray, too. Fraser would do all he could to make sure Ray survived, sacrifice himself even. Selflessness they call it. I call it selfishness. Does he realise what effect he has on me? That losing him means part of me dies too? If he considered that he would not be so self sacrificing. Would he? No, he would know he had to keep himself safe for me, for my sake. But of course, I forget, I never told him. So he would not know that to risk his life would injure me too. Isn't that what I admired about him? His ability to give his all to as task and to always put others first? His needs were always secondary. That's why he never could admit what he felt for me , after that train incident. He obeyed orders before he obeyed his heart.  
  
Sometimes I loathe this uniform.  
  
Without it I would never have met him. If I had never met him, I would not be grieving now. Grieving can last a long time when there is no body.  
  
I've considered going out there and finding it, him, but they would not release me from my duties. They probably know I would not return. The winter is drawing on and the climate too harsh for a greenhorn. And I'm a city girl.  
  
If Fraser could not survive out there, what chance would I have of rushing to his rescue like a knight on a skiddoo? His survival skills are unequalled except by a few Inuit trackers.  
  
Ray's parents left last week: they needed proof that he was gone. That he would not be back. I tried not to give them false hope, tried to be realistic. I put on my official face and told them that after so long with no radio contact the official report was that they were missing and presumed dead. There were search parties now, still, combing the area around the Beaufort sea. But that was a huge distance and would take weeks. They would have to stop looking soon because of the weather.  
  
I told them I was sorry for their loss. The Kowalskis left, resigned and sad.  
  
When I am feeling strong and hopeful, I imagine that they found food and shelter, and that even now, they are on their way back. That the pnone will ring and he will speak to me as if no time and no distance separates us. As if we were back in Chicago and he was asking me out for coffee. Or inviting me to his place for an omelette.  
  
A sound interrupts my thoughts and it is a while before I realise it is, indeed, the telephone. I cross the room and my hand hovers like a dragonfly over the handset. I take a breath and lift it. 


	4. A Wild and Savage Land

A Wild and Savage Land ByHolly C  
  
These aren't my characters. Alliance owns them, I am borrowing them and making no profit. TYK.  
  
A Wild and Savage Land  
  
Rated G  
  
Spoilers for Call of The Wild. This is a sequel to The Breath of the Night Wind  
  
Coppermine, Coronation Gulf. September.  
  
Fraser's been real quiet since we got back to what he calls civilisation. Huh. Civilisation up here means a coupla huts, some indoor plumbing, some note paper, post office and a bar. I think it's a bar. At least the post office has real heating in it and I feel like I'm finally thawing out. Almost human again. Fraser says we're eight hundred kilometres from Inuvik now, whatever that is. Five hundred miles in real measurements, I guess. See I can count like he does now I spent so long with him. Still not sure if I know him that much better. Slightly off track he says. We've gotta get to Yellowknife tomorrow so we can get a plane back to Ottawa. Ottawa sounds like heaven to me: cars, shops, pollution, smells, people, noise, music, television, electricity, more people. I sure hope Francesca remembered to feed the turtle.  
  
We came a long way.  
  
Seems like they had a search party out looking for us. All cos we failed to radio in at the expected time, and they all expect Fraser to keep to schedule, knowing how pernickity he is about that kinda stuff. Organised, punctual, reliable Fraser.  
  
Well we made it in spite of losing the radio though there were some moments that had me praying like I haven't done for years. We get stuck in a crevasse and Fraser does this singing thing like he did that other time when we jumped out of the plane after Mulgrew or whatever he was called. I know the words real well now so I could sing along with him. "Just one more time and I'll take the northwest passage to the sea...." And you know what? It's kinda soothing. Out there it's so quiet, silence like ya never get in the city. So quiet you can hear the thud of each others heart, the sigh of each others breath. And even though you're real scared, you feel peaceful. Ya know? Like when you see a tiny baby smile at you; that feeling of pure calmness.  
  
So we never found the hand of Franklin that reaching out hand and I don't really care, you know. It was all a big excuse to get away and I kinda had to humor the big guy. He was hurting bad over his mom and Ray. I think he was kinda lonely and getting away from everyone was supposed to help. Go figure: you feel lonely so you go someplace where there are almost no people. Geez, we only saw a handful of Inuit in all the weeks we were out there. I tried to help him but sometimes the words wouldn't come. My mouth would freeze up as cold as my nose. Besides I was hurting too, you know. Stella had finally left town for good she said. No chance of getting her back now.  
  
I learnt a lot on the journey. Facts can keep you sane out in the wilderness, trying to survive. I learnt about the Arctic explorations of Elisha Kent Kane and his search for Sir John Franklin in the 1850's. The poor Franklin guy died in July 1845 without ever finding the northwest passage. I learnt about polar bears and siksiks. About which berries are safe to eat and how to fish in ice holes with a spear with feathers on it. I can sit real still for hours now though I don't know how useful that will be in Chicago. Maybe for stakeouts.  
  
I learnt that the stars are bigger and closer and scarier out here. And the sky during long daylight hours is full of many different kinds of birds; more than I've ever seen in my life. I discovered that through Fraser's eyes a desolate wilderness becomes a land of intense light and beauty. I learnt there is a place where the sun never sets and sleeping gets kinda hard to do without a partner to lull you to sleep with stories. And boy does Fraser know some stories. The guy is an anthology.  
  
I can now name every province in Canada and its capital even that new one. I know that John A Macdonald created the north west Mounted Police to rid the plains of Americans and John Cabot landed on Cape Breton Island in June 1487.  
  
Fraser showed me how to build a house out of ice and it was warm too. Oh yeah, I learnt to like lichen. Huh, that was a joke. I guess I've developed a Fraser sense of humor through over exposure to him.  
  
Anyway, what I have managed to do is this. I persuaded him to ring her in Ottawa. I could see he was missing her already; the Ice Queen. He's here in the post office now putting the call through. He protested at first, said it was too late and she'd be in bed but I pushed him. He needs that, a lot of encouragement. He sure can be one stubborn Mountie. I told him she would be *concerned* about him. Words like 'concerned' work well with Fraser. Concerned about both of us. Since they all thought we might have frozen to death out there it was only fair to put her out of her misery. He argued that he did not know where she was, or even if she was in Ottawa but the Mountie guy who is stationed here, a corporal someone or something said she had called every settlement in this part of the NWT (see I even call it the same as Fraser does). They'd all heard of Inspector Thatcher and he could tell Fraser exactly where to find her.  
  
Fraser looked a bit scared as he went to the phone, the palest I've seen him since he last got beat up. Or sometimes when Frannie talks to him; he goes pale and then red as his jacket when she does one of her numbers on him.  
  
I wonder what he'll say to her? I'm gonna ring Chicago when he's finished. See how Frannie is. I never thought I'd hear myself say this but I kinda missed her and I woulda been sorry if I never got to see her again. Funny what you realise when you have time to think. Like I'm looking forward now, not back. I've put Stella behind me and I'm thinking about the future and what I'm gonna do with my life now I've got it back. Like Fraser has. He's put his hurt behind him and made a decision about the ice queen. And boy do I wish him luck. 


	5. A Beautiful Land of Dreams

This story follows on from A Wild and Savage Land, though as far as monologues go it can stand alone.  
  
  
  
A Beautiful Land of Dreams by Holly C  
  
Alliance owns them, I am borrowing them.  
  
PG for a naughty word.  
  
I feel Ray's eyes burrowing into the back of my neck, making the hairs stand on end as if he were Superman with x ray vision in the old comics I used to read as a child. Superman would see right through a person, into their hearts, past the outer shell, the outward show. Ray thinks he knows me, thinks he knows what's best for me. He's a good friend but I would have done it any way. I would, I can, I am a Mountie, after all. He's come here to make sure I keep my promise to him. I will.  
  
I look down at the wavering piece of paper on which are scrawled the familiar numbers in unfamiliar handwriting. I have often dialed those numbers myself from the Canadian Consulate in Chicago.  
  
So now I dial with a shaking hand and try to convince myself that the tremors are from the cold but I'm fooling no one. I dial her number or to be more accurate I punch the numbers on the keypad, there is no dial on it. When did I last see a phone with a dial on it? I don't remember. I don't remember much at the moment. Not even how to breathe.  
  
There is a long static filled pause whilst the connection is being made.  
  
Deep breathing is a good calming method. Breathe in deeply to a count of three, out to a count of five, in to five out to seven. I can do it.  
  
"Come on son, stop procrastinating."  
  
"Oh, I wondered when you were going to put in an appearance," I reply drily to the familiar voice. Turning to confront him I see only Ray who has quietly approached me without me even realising. I should have known he has gone for good now. He doesn't need me any more, or is it that I don't need him? He's found his peace so I guess I should find mine. It's what he would have wanted. He would have approved. I think he liked her, but you could never tell with Dad.  
  
I tried to hide it but could tell Ray had noticed the flash of disappointment that crossed my face. He said nothing. He merely stood beside me, silently supporting me in spite of my bad behavior. That's what friends are for. We don't need words any more and we aren't afraid of the silence between us. It feels satisfying to have a friendship like ours; and that is something I am learning to treasure and cherish. Maybe by the end of this day I will feel complete, whole, fulfilled.  
  
I hear the ringing tone, the breath freezes in my throat and I have to concentrate again on inhaling, exhaling. I count: one... two... three...maybe she is out...four...five...or too busy to answer...six... seven...or it's the wrong number...eight...nine...maybe I should just put the phone down...ten...eleven...twelve. As I move to replace the handset I feel the strong grip of Ray's fingers, a vice around my arm. His piercing eyes meet mine as he dares me, dares me to give up. I know what he is saying through his silence, "Don't let me down, don't let yourself down. " Together we lift the receiver to my ear. I can hear her voice and the trembling begins again, Ray's hand is still there holding my arm up, giving me the resolve I lack. She's just another human being; she feels like I do, her heart beats like mine. Not a monster, not something other. The same, just a woman. Unmistakable.  
  
"Hello, is there anyone there?" Then exasperated, "Speak, damn you!"  
  
I could never disobey her, so I respond, a whisper,  
  
"Sir?"  
  
Silence. Is she still there? Is she angry with me? Clearing my throat, I try again.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
The silence is unnerving in its persistence. I pull at my collar feeling the fire's warmth increase the heat in my body. I shift my weight from one foot to the other. The pressure on my arm has gone, Ray has moved slowly and quietly away to sit on a chair by the hearth.  
  
I wait uncomfortably in the silence. Perhaps to her I seem like a spirit, a dream. She thought I was dead, everyone thought we were both dead. That's understandable. So, it is perfectly understandable that she might be a little shocked to hear my voice. It occurs to me that perhaps she has fainted. I consider the image of Margaret Thatcher in a faint, prostrate, immobile on her office floor and a smile curls my lips.  
  
Making eye contact with Ray I see he lifts an eyebrow in query. I shake my head at him and listen intently until I can discern faint breathing down the line, her breathing, far away in Ottawa. Her breathing which is growing more rapid, building up to something - what? Admonition? Anger? Relief?  
  
Then so softly I must strain to hear it, her beautiful voice, "Fraser?" It cuts through my senses to lodge painfully in my chest where longings and dreams lay. Dreams of her that had disturbed my arctic nights, longings for her that had disturbed my dreams.  
  
And I hadn't realised.  
  
"Yes, it's me, sir."  
  
"Fraser. I was just...just thinking about you."  
  
Her voice sounds strange, strained, even through the static of hundreds of kilometres. The pain in my chest gets sharper. I fill the ensuing pause,  
  
"Sir? I'm sorry we were gone so long. We had no radio."  
  
I await the torrent that my words will provoke but none comes. She is strangely subdued.  
  
"I thought you were dead." Her voice cracks on the last word.  
  
I hadn't realised. I hadn't truly considered how the news of my...demise...might affect her. So I have my answer without even having to ask the question.  
  
"Sir, ma'am. I'm-"  
  
I cannot continue for she would never hear me over the wrenching sobs that pierce my heart. I stare at the phone as regretful tears track slowly down my cheeks. I wipe them away with the hand that still clutches the paper, blurring the ink.  
  
Now it is not possible to tell apart the mingled weeping; hers or mine. So I wait a while then breathe in a shudder and try again.  
  
" I am sorry."  
  
Finally, she recovers enough to say quietly, "Fraser, come home safely."  
  
"Yes. Sir"  
  
"I missed you."  
  
There are some emotions I find impossible to express over the phone. I need to see her face to tell her how I feel about her. So I reply as lovingly as I can,  
  
"I'll see you soon. Meg."  
  
Trembling still I replace the phone, exhausted from emotional strain and fall into the nearest chair.  
  
Ray's voice calms me, making light of the situation, "So she give ya a hard time?"  
  
I shake my head, and he smiles at me.  
  
"S'Okay Fraser. You did good." He punches me playfully in the arm. "So where do we sleep? I'm sick of this cold weather, Frase, and want to get back to civilisation soon. First off I need that phone. Gimme."  
  
I assume he needs to call his parents to let them know we are on our way home. But no, Ray is full of surprises. He is grinning like a child on Christmas morning as he says into the mouthpiece, "Hey Frannie, it's Ray."  
  
Fin.  
  
For now  
  
Holly C. Oct 1999  
  
  
  
On A Darkling Plain  
  
This Distant Northern Shore  
  
The Breath of the Night Wind  
  
A Wild and Savage Land  
  
A Beautiful Land of Dreams 


End file.
